


Peep Show

by VeraBAdler



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coming In Pants, Deansturbation, Dom/sub Play, Exhibitionism, M/M, Panty Kink, Sex Worker Castiel, casturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 13:37:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14545875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeraBAdler/pseuds/VeraBAdler
Summary: Castiel Novak, aspiring writer, works a peep show to pay the bills. Shy, closeted, wonderful Dean comes to his booth one Tuesday night looking for something he's never had the courage to find before.





	Peep Show

It's not so bad working there, most of the time.

Sitting in a booth at a sex shop, talking men off for $2 a minute, it isn't anyone's idea of a desirable career, but it's _not_ his career. Castiel is a writer, and as soon as he can sell something, he can quit this job, but for now it pays the bills.

Some nights it's heartbreaking – lonesome souls who are so desperate to connect with another human being that they'll feed dollar after dollar into the slot just to have someone to talk to. He goes home those nights drained and saddened, but full of ideas for stories. He'll stay up for hours writing character sketches and short, hopeful pieces about lonely men looking for their soulmates.

Some nights it's frightening – angry beasts who say vile things, threaten him with pain or worse. The bouncers at the store are excellent, though. Castiel doesn't know (doesn't _want_ to know) how they handle these customers, but he never sees the same one twice. He goes home those nights shaken, double-locking his door and burrowing under his blankets. The stories that come to him on those nights repulse him, and he pushes them out of his head with wine and late-night TV.

Most nights it's boring. He can size up the majority of the men who enter his booth before they even open their mouths, can tell what kind of fantasy they're looking for by the cast of their eyes and the way they hold their hands. Castiel is a wordsmith, and he can spin tales of passion and hunger, erotic poems which taste of honey and spice, but most of his customers only want the same ten words over and over: _fuck me suck it want you harder yes please more._

Despite the monotony of most of his sessions, it's still sexy, what he does. He's a healthy man with a strong libido, and it's arousing to craft fantasies for his customers, to see them get off on the stories he spins. After a few weeks of working there, Castiel settles into a nice little groove; it's not like he's got a raging hard-on from the start to the end of every shift, but he usually gets himself off at least once a night. It's a pleasant perk of the job, and the customers always like watching him come.

~~~~~~~

The shop where he works is a prosperous one, and it offers twelve private booths. On weeknights about half of them are available; on weekends they're fully staffed. Each booth has two sides – one for the customer, one for the talent. Between the sides is a window that can be covered with a sliding barrier.

The customer's side contains nothing but a plastic chair, which is bolted to the floor and faces the window. Below the window is a slot for money, and above the window is a countdown of time remaining in the session. When the customer pays, the barrier slides up and the window between them is clear. (The barrier is a piece of metal sheeting but Castiel, who did a little theater in high school, prefers to think of it as “the curtain”.)

From the customer's point of view, the talent's side looks identical to his. What the customer can't see is that the chair is much nicer – padded and comfortable – and can be moved around freely. There's a countdown clock just like the customer's above the window. Right below the window, out of the customer's line of sight, is a low shelving unit. Castiel keeps his stocked with things he might want during his downtime (granola bars, bottles of water, a thermos of coffee, his phone, a notebook and pens) as well as supplies for his “uptime” (lube, baby wipes, his favorite vibe). There is a button on the floor, close to the side wall, painted to blend in and so unobtrusive as to be nearly invisible, but convenient to reach from the chair. This button calls the bouncers.

~~~~~~~

It's a slow Tuesday night when the man enters Castiel's booth and the story begins. The curtain goes up and the man's eyes go wide, his lips rounding into an “o” of shock.

“Wow,” he blurts, then blushes.

Castiel raises an eyebrow and smirks. “That's a nice compliment,” he drawls.

The man has “awkward virgin” written all over him. But that doesn't make sense because he looks like he's around Castiel's age, mid-twenties, and he's _gorgeous_ – luminous green eyes, long lashes, full lips, a well-defined jaw, and a body that seems solid and fit. _There's no way he looks like that and is still a virgin,_ Castiel thinks. But he's all blushes and sheepish body language, shifting his hands like he doesn't know what to do with them. _Closeted? Is tonight the first time he's felt brave enough to visit this side of the tracks?_

The man clears his throat. “I-I, just, you're way better looking than I was expecting. I like your, your, what you're wearing.” He gestures vaguely at Castiel's clothes, then his hand drops limply into his lap.

Castiel looks down at tonight's outfit – a gauzy pale blue tank top, a bit oversized, and loose-fitting tap pants of the same material. “Thank you. This outfit is very comfortable. The fabric is quite soft. I love the way it feels on my skin.” He keeps his voice low, and his words simple; despite his obvious interest, the man seems unsettled and anxious, and Castiel feels the urge to gentle him, to soothe him like he would a frightened animal.

They are on the clock, though, so Castiel does need to keep things moving forward. He runs his hand across his chest, stroking his nipples so they perk up a bit. The man gulps, his eyes riveted to Castiel's body.

“What's your name, beautiful?”

The blush gets deeper. _Are those freckles?_ “Dean. Dean Winchester.”

“First names are fine, Dean. I'm Castiel. What brings you here tonight? What would you like to see me do for you?” He flicks his eyes down to Dean's crotch, noting the already-impressive bulge, then moves his hand down to his stomach, and slowly further still. He looks up at Dean through his lashes. “What do you wish you could do to me?”

“I...” He gulps again. Those alluring eyes darken with desire and his breathing speeds up. One of his hands moves dreamily along his thigh. “Just wanna touch, Castiel. Look so good.”

“You like how I look? You like me dressed up pretty for you? I like to wear pretty things. You should come see me on the weekend, Dean.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs. His hand has moved to his crotch, and he's petting himself absently. His attention is on Castiel, flicking back and forth from his face to his body, but he's hazy, and he speaks as if he's barely awake.

“Yes, I put on my nice lingerie for my weekend shows. Black silk, red velvet, white lace... Would you like to see me like that, Dean?”

“Cas,” he whines. His eyes are lidded, barely open, but Castiel still feels his gaze. His hand is pressing more firmly against the bulge between his legs.

Castiel checks the countdown clock. There's only about 90 seconds left on the money Dean spent, but that should be plenty of time to get the man off. _God, look at him,_ he thinks. _The things I could do to him. Mmm._ He reaches his hand into his shorts and strokes himself a little. He's hard, and there's a wet spot forming on his shorts where he's starting to leak. He closes his eyes and just enjoys the sensation for a moment, then purrs, “You should definitely come see me this weekend, Dean. I'd be dressed up special, show you my panties. Show you what's _under_ my panties.” He moans a little, enjoying the feel of his own hand and the knowledge that he's got Dean exactly where he wants him.

Dean moans in response and curls in on himself. He breathing goes harsh, and Castiel can see a dark patch form on the crotch of his jeans. He looks up into Castiel's eyes and the haze clears. His handsome face is flushed with pleasure, his lips are full and red, but his expression is conflicted, confused, ashamed. Castiel wants to find the words to reassure him, tell him he's lovely, tell him he's not doing anything wrong, but the curtain drops and he's gone from view.

~~~~~~~

Castiel hopes for the rest of his shift that Dean will come back, but he doesn't reappear. _Of course he doesn't,_ he thinks. _Poor guy's off somewhere having his gay panic._ The stories that come to him after he goes home that night are all ridiculous tripe, full of sweet, shy men with green eyes and freckles finding true love in the big city.

~~~~~~~

Castiel doesn't see Dean the next night, or the night after that. He works his shifts, and entertains a steady stream of customers. He has his usual visits with his regulars, and goes through the routines those regulars expect, along with plenty of sessions with men he's never seen before and will never see again. Whoever he's with, whatever he's doing, the only time his cock even twitches is when he imagines that it's Dean in the booth across from him. _What is going on with me?_ he wonders. _What is it about Dean that's gotten him so far inside my head? Sure, the guy was hot, but he was just another customer. Why can't I stop thinking about him?_

He doesn't have to consider long before the answer comes to him. _He saw me,_ he thinks. _He looked right at me._ He's so used to disappearing into whatever fantasy the customer brings into the booth that he'd forgotten what it was like to be seen as himself. But Dean had seen him. And Castiel had liked it. And now he's hungry for it to happen again.

~~~~~~~

He doesn't want to admit it to himself, but he takes extra care with his outfit for his Friday shift. He wasn't lying to Dean; he does dress up extra nice for the weekends, when all twelve booths are blazing and the customers stream in, flush with payday cash and ready to unload a week's worth of tension. He favors comfortable, skimpy loungewear during the week, but he always pulls out his best lingerie for Friday and Saturday nights. This Friday, though, he puts an unusual amount of thought into his choice. He decides on elegant black silk: a spaghetti strap camisole and bikini panty set that fits snug to his body and shows off his chest and his ass. Over this he throws a short silk kimono, also black, edged with embroidered red roses. His feet and legs are bare most nights, but tonight he pulls on sheer black thigh-high stockings.

The outfit gives him a little boost, leaves him feeling kind of bossy, and it comes out in his interactions with the customers. He's all quirked eyebrow and growled instructions with the men who come into his booth, and they love it. It's fun to play with a persona like this sometimes, craft a mask to wear.

Then the curtain goes up and Dean's sitting across from him, and the mask drops in a heartbeat. He feels his face stretch into a gummy grin and just like that, Castiel-the-dom has left the building. “Hello, Dean,” he says with genuine pleasure.

Dean grins back, _and oh, there's that blush again_. He rubs the back of his neck and ducks his head sheepishly, but doesn't break eye contact. “H-hey, Cas. I'm surprised you remember me.”

Now it's Castiel's turn to blush. _Is that creepy? That I remember him?_ “I... I do. I thought about you the past couple days. You seemed so upset after...” He doesn't know how to finish that sentence. _After I talked you off for money? After you came in your pants thinking about my cock? God, stop_, he tells himself. _This is ridiculous. You're not his therapist. Get this back on track, Castiel._

He shakes his head a bit to clear it, then straightens his spine, gathering his dom persona around himself again. “Well, you're here now. I'm glad, Dean. I promised you my nice lingerie if you came back. Did I deliver? Do you think I look pretty tonight?”

Dean laughs, an incredulous huff of breath. “Look amazing. Can... Can I see what's under that robe?”

Castiel cocks his head to the side, touches a finger to his lips, and looks to the corner of the room, pretending to consider Dean's request. He's already getting hard, feels the head of his cock pushing against the elastic band of his panties. “Hmmm. I don't know. Have you been a good boy? Have you earned a treat?”

He wasn't positive Dean would be up for this kind of play, but the man lowers his head and puts his hands demurely in his lap, murmuring, “Yes, sir. I've been good.”

 _Perfection. He's a born sub,_ Castiel thinks. _Jesus. Look at him._ Dean is breathtaking like this – eyes modestly downcast, waiting for his treat. Castiel wants to give him whatever he wants.

“I know you have, Dean. I can tell you're a good boy.” He lets the robe slip down his shoulders, baring his chest.

At the sound of silk on skin, Dean looks up. “Sir...” he breathes.

Castiel preens, feeling lovely under Dean's appreciative gaze. He allows the robe to fall to the floor, then cocks a hip, bends his knee, raises his eyebrow. “What do you think?” he purrs.

Dean groans. “Fuck, sir. You look fantastic.” He moves his hand towards his crotch, but stills instantly when Castiel raises a chiding finger.

“Don't touch yourself until I say, pet. Not until I decide.” He can see the way his words run through Dean's body like a current. It's intoxicating, this power. He could play like this for hours, but he glances at the clock above the window. _This is all very fun,_ he chides himself, _but you're here for your customer, Castiel._ “What would you like, Dean? What do you want to see?”

Dean flushes, but he doesn't have to take time to ponder this question. His answer is prompt and his tone is assured, although his posture remains submissive. “Touch yourself, sir. Please. I want to see you come.”

“Mmm,” he murmurs, “that does sound nice. I don't want to mess up my silk, though. Is it okay if I take it off?”

He's being a tease now, and he knows it. But Dean's completely hooked. He can't even seem to form words to reply, just nods vigorously. That hand is straying again and Castiel raises an admonishing eyebrow. “Hands on your thighs, beautiful. Wait for permission. Be good for me.” He lets the straps slide off his broad shoulders and the top slithers along his body to the floor. A beat later, the panties follow.

It feels unusually erotic to be naked for Dean, a fact he absolutely declines to examine at this time. Dean's face shows nothing but hunger and appreciation as his eyes roam across Castiel's bare skin.

He settles in his comfortable chair, slinging one leg over the arm to expose himself fully to Dean's view. The countdown clock shows he's got enough time to get them both off as long as he doesn't try to stretch it out too much. He's been turned on since Dean showed up in his booth tonight, and he knows his own body and how to make it sing. As for Dean, well, he looks like he could go off in about three seconds with the right motivation, and Castiel is planning to motivate the hell out of him.

As soon as he wraps a hand around his cock, he throws his head back and revels in the rush of sensation. He hadn't realized how desperate he'd gotten, how close. “Ohhh yes,” he sighs, peeking at Dean's flushed face while he runs his other hand across a nipple, brings it down to cup his balls. “Dean... Feels so good. Wish these were your hands on me.”

“Cas... _Sir_ ,” Dean moans.

The sound of his voice, wrecked and desperate, ramps Castiel up fast and he finds he's already skating the edge of orgasm. _Good thing, too,_ he notes as he checks the clock. “Touch yourself, Dean. Take your pretty cock out. I want to see you, too. I want you to come with me, baby.”

Dean's hands fly to his belt and he pulls himself out in a frenzy. His cock looks delicious – thick, cut, and dark red with arousal. He slicks his hand in the precome drooling from the tip and jerks himself hard and fast. His eyes half-close with ecstasy, but he never drops his gaze from Castiel.

The two men watch each other intently, fists flying along their erections. They don't come at the exact same time, but it's close. Dean's breath hitches and he croons, “Oh, sir!” as he reaches his peak, and it's so hot that Castiel is shooting up his belly and onto his chest half a moment later.

Dean's session is very nearly up, but Castiel wants to leave him feeling good about their encounter this time. Before Dean has a chance to catch his breath, before the shame has a chance to creep in, Castiel stretches languidly and beams, “Thank you, Dean, that was really lovely. You were _perfect_.” The curtain comes down on Dean's expression of shy, surprised pleasure.

~~~~~~~

After that, Dean comes back. He comes back again and again – at least twice a week. He becomes one of Castiel's regulars, but their interactions are anything but routine. They share fantasies, negotiate kinks together. Castiel wears all of his best lingerie for Dean. He demonstrates his favorite vibrator, thoroughly and repeatedly. He even brings in a few special toys from home, just for Dean's eyes. In return, Dean tells Castiel his secrets, talks about everything he's ever wanted to do but never had the nerve to try. The night that Dean bashfully unzips the fly of his jeans to reveal a triangle of green lace will hold a starring role in Castiel's spank bank for eternity and beyond.

Along with orgasms, they share smiles, and fond greetings, and jokes that only the two of them find funny. Dean's visits are always the highlights of Castiel's shifts, but at some point he realizes that they've become the highlights of his day, and then the highlights of his whole week. As a writer, he hates to be cliché, but one day he catches himself thinking, _I've never felt this way about someone before_ and the words ring with absolute truth.

But if he's never felt this way about anyone before, he's never felt anything even remotely _close_ to this for a customer, and therein lies the problem. For the most part, he likes his customers, and he's never approached the job with any sort of contempt for the people who visit his booth. He's always drawn a bright, solid line, though, between his job and his personal life. Now that he wants to cross that line, he has no idea how to do it.

He imagines meeting Dean for the first time in a bar, in a coffee shop, in an office, in a bizarre alternate universe full of monsters and angels. In any other scenario he can concoct a conversation that puts them on the path towards a relationship, or at least dinner and a movie. But here, in this universe, he's stumped. 

_Hey, Dean, remember the second time we met, when I got naked in front of you and we jerked off together? Yeah, that was fun. By the way, do you like sushi?_

_Wow, Dean, you look exquisite when you come. Do you want to get a cappuccino some time?_

_Dean, I'm honestly concerned about how much money you're spending to come in here three times a week and talk about having sex with me when I would happily have actual sex with you for free every day of the week and twice on Sundays if that was something you might be interested in..._

~~~~~~~

As it turns out, it's another customer that finally helps Castiel cross that line, but only by crossing the line himself, in the very worst way.

It's a slow Thursday night and Castiel is feeling a bit bored in his booth, when the curtain comes up on a man whose face is dark with anger. This in itself is not unusual – customers often come in to blow off some steam after a bad day, showing up pissed and looking for a distraction. Castiel smiles and opens his mouth to offer a friendly greeting, but he is cut off when the man starts to talk, and the words he spits are pure poison. He calls Castiel terrible things, describes the ways he wants to hurt him and the ways he'll make him bleed. He looks Castiel in the eyes and calls himself the angel of death, and in that moment Castiel believes him.

Stunned, terrified, frozen in place, he lets it go on for far too long. When he finally remembers the button to call the bouncers, he almost cries with relief. After the bouncers come and he is alone again, he does cry, because he's never been that scared before. In all his life, in all his stories, he'd never met or imagined a being so twisted with hate.

He slips away to the staff restroom and gives himself a little time to calm down, but he's still on the clock and can't afford the luxury of a full-scale meltdown over this. He consciously slows his breathing, dries his tears, and splashes cool water on his face to take the blotchy redness from his cheeks. As soon as he's stopped shaking, he returns to his booth and settles back on his chair.

He's dreading the rise of the curtain, but when it does come up a few minutes later, there's Dean. Castiel feels a full-body burst of joy at seeing that friendly face exactly when he needed it most.

“Hello, Dean,” he says, beaming at him through the partition.

“Hey, Cas.” Dean smiles back. Then he looks closer at Castiel's face and his expression changes. “You alright? You look upset.”

“Oh, I...” It figures that he wouldn't be able to hide this from Dean. As usual, Dean sees him. This realization makes the tears come again. “I, uh, just had a bad customer. He scared me, said he was going to hurt me...”

“What?!” Dean's face changes from concern to righteous anger in an instant. He's on his feet, heading towards the door, ready to fight. “What did he look like, Cas? Is he still here? I'll make sure he–”

Castiel cuts him off, flinching a little before he speaks. “No! I mean... No, don't worry. The bouncers took care of him. They're excellent. He won't come back here again.” He's gratified by Dean's wholehearted offer of help, but the fury on his face is upsetting, coming so soon after he was so frightened by a different angry face in the spot where Dean is standing now.

As soon as he hears that Castiel is out of danger, Dean's posture relaxes. The threat of violence vanishes, and he moves back towards the partition. “Okay, good,” he says. “I'm glad that you're okay. I don't... I'd hate for anything bad to ever happen to you, Cas.” He raises his arms in front of him, then drops them again. “God, I just want to hug you right now. I want to hold you and prove to myself that you're safe.”

Castiel huffs a watery laugh and rubs at his eyes, trying to stanch the flow of tears. “I want that too, Dean. I want that so much.”

“Do you... I mean... Would you ever actually want to do that? Get together? Go somewhere together outside of here? Be in the same room without a fucking wall between us?”

“I would. I do. I've wanted that for a while now, but I haven't known how to ask. I didn't know if you'd want anything like that with someone like me.”

“Jesus, Cas, someone like _you_? I've been yours for the asking since the second time I came here.” He looks at Castiel with undisguised affection. “What about tonight? When does your shift end? We could go get a burger, or a beer?”

“After the night I've had, I'm pretty sure I can get off whenever I want.”

When Dean smirks at his choice of words, he flushes and shakes his head. “I meant off of work. We can talk about the rest of it later.”

Dean's eyes sparkles as he smiles and replies, “I look forward to it.”

~~~~~~~

_(OBVIOUSLY they fall deeply in love and spend the rest of their lives together, and OBVIOUSLY the first novel Cas sells (the first of many in a long and successful career) is an account of his days at the peep show and how he met the love of his life, in which basically the only thing he changes is people's names, and OBVIOUSLY they never tell Dean's family the book is flat-out nonfiction.)_

**Author's Note:**

> Link to reblog this on tumblr is [here](http://yourspecialeyes.tumblr.com/post/173606353808/peep-show-by-verabadler-castiel-novak-aspiring).


End file.
